Though the thin older woman wore thick lenses, she was working on a doily with a hook that was so small, Maris couldn’t see it from across the circle.
“Yes,” she said, holding up the irregular patch of red and ochre yarn. “The never-ending potholder.”
“More like hardly begun,” Eunice said.
“Now Eunice,” Millicent chided. “We all work at our own pace.”
Helen nodded at the potholder, and gave Maris a wink. “I still like those colors.”
As Maris glanced around the circle, she saw that Zarina was working on a pair of dusty pink baby boots; Vera was crocheting a scarf with thick, sage colored yarn. Of course, Helen with her doily seemed to be crocheting string, but it was a beautiful combination of white, lavender and purple. Eunice was working on something huge that looked to Maris like it might be a cape or a shoulder wrap of some sort. While most of it was crimson, the border was black.
As usual, Millicent had the most colorful project. Maris wondered if the aura reader could see colors that were out of this world, because her yarn choices certainly looked like it. She was crocheting a ski cap that looked like it had every color in the visible and invisible spectrums.
The five other ladies sat quietly, working on their projects, but glancing furtively at one another. Maris knew they were waiting for her to start the conversation and let them know the real reason for her visit.
“The death of Audrey Graisser,” Maris said. “Horrible business.”
Almost as one, they set their projects in their laps.
“Simply dreadful,” Zarina agreed, staring at Maris through the huge spectacles.
Vera nodded and peered over her reading glasses. “Awful. Truly awful.”
Helen took off her horn-rimmed glasses. “Such a lovely young girl,” she said sadly.
Everyone looked to Millicent. Her twinkling black eyes landed on each of them in turn, settling finally on Maris.
“I take it you were there,” the leader of the cabal said.
Though it sounded like a simple statement, Maris knew that the negotiation had begun. Where information was currency, Millicent had just asked for a good faith deposit.
Maris nodded. “I was there, as I’m sure you know.” There were prim smiles all around, even from Eunice. They could likely tell her the name of every single person at the rally. “Perhaps you’ve heard that very little evidence was found near the body, because of the sand.”
“No footprints,” Millicent agreed.
“Nothing accidentally dropped,” Zarina added.
“Except for the flyers,” Vera said.
Helen nodded. “I think that sums it up.”
“Well,” Maris began slowly, “it turns out the flyers had fingerprints on them.” Everyone leaned forward a bit, even Millicent. “Those of Julia Mendes.”
A quick look shot around the circle, as they all sat back.
“Naturally,” Millicent finally said. “That makes sense.”
Everyone went back to their projects, and Maris even managed to crochet a few links that were the same size. After enough time had passed, she said, “Naturally you’ve also heard that the fishing spear that killed her was taken from Castaways.” There was no acknowledgement, but all work stopped, even if they didn’t lift their gazes. “Ryan Quigg,” Maris continued, as though she was idly musing. “A very nice young man, avid fisherman, and…” She glanced at Millicent. “…if I had to guess, I’d say he might be one of the magic folk.”
Again, all eyes landed on Millicent, who nodded to Eunice.
The redhead put down her cape, and looked directly at Maris. “He is,” she declared.
Although Maris was glad for the confirmation, Pixie Point Bay etiquette prevented her from asking exactly what his talent might be. Apparently, Millicent understood her predicament.
“You might say,” the club president said, “that we’ve put together a few clues over time.” She glanced at Zarina, who smiled, her cheeks lifting the large glasses.
“When there’s even a hint of humidity in the air,” she said, “there’s a rainbow over his shop.”
Maris’s eyebrows went up.
“Curious,” said Vera, looking over the glasses on the end of her nose. “A shop that never seems to earn much money and yet doesn’t have finance worries.”
“Ever seen him fish in the early morning twilight?” Helen asked. “It seems like the light is playing a trick on old eyes, but it just might be that those fishing rods of his have a bit of sparkle to them.”
“I’m telling you,” Eunice said, scowling at Millicent. “He’s got a pot of gold in there.”
Maris frowned a little. A rainbow, a sparkling rod, and a pot of gold? It started to ring a bell. The young Mr. Quigg was of Irish descent. She sat back in her chair as the pieces finally fit together: Ryan was a leprechaun. When she looked at Millicent, the old woman was watching her with a knowing look on her face. She simply nodded.
All those times on the pier that Maris had seen him reeling in one fish after another… He’d imbued his rod and reel with the luck of the Irish.
Once again the ladies picked up their projects, as did Maris. As their conversation turned to Zarina’s new great-grandchild, and then Helen’s home needing a new roof, Maris wasn’t really listening.
If Ryan could cast some luck on his tackle, had he also done that to the spear gun?
It had to be an unwieldy weapon at the best of times, let alone on land. Yet it had been successfully used to kill someone.
Maris had hoped that her visit to the club would yield new information—which it had done—but it had also pointed her in a direction of which she wasn’t too fond. By the time she returned her attention to her project, she found she’d begun to make her potholder rectangular instead of square. As she tugged on the yarn, undoing the last few rows, she sighed. It was like her investigation, seeming to get somewhere and then unraveling.
23
Although Maris wasn’t surprised to see Julia Mendes’ car in front of the B&B, she was shocked to see what the young woman was doing. At
